


departure

by paddyfields (lucitae)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person, Pre-Time Skip, Stream of Consciousness, set towards the end of 377
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:29:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27553879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucitae/pseuds/paddyfields
Summary: On the sort of longing inflicted by the act of saying goodbye.Alternatively, Hinata Shouyou tries to fit two years of his life into two pieces of luggage and one large backpack.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	departure

**Author's Note:**

> i finished packing up my life 6 hours before my flight. spent an hour just sitting there, for the most part, staring at all the pieces.
> 
> just because you do it often doesn't mean you get used to it.

Clothes are neatly folded, stacked on the bare mattress in piles. Pants, shirts, underwear, socks made into balls guarding their territories. The linen long stripped: folded and tucked back into the packaging they came in, placed at the bottom of the suitcase.

The two pieces of luggage lie on the floor, unzipped. Scattered around are pieces of your life:

The shirt you got on a shopping trip with Yachi before you traveled half way across the world. The boxes of medicine mom had slipped into your bag the first time around. For colds, stomach pains, diarrhea and everything needed for a mini pharmacy. The souvenir version of Christ the Redeemer you purchased are wrapped in newspapers. The fake gems on the flaming pink shirt you got for Tsukishima winks at you. The old beach volleyball gear you played in proudly displays Kenma’s Bouncing Ball logo.

And then there are things that don’t fit. Things that you have to leave behind:

The volumes you bought to help you learn the language faster. ( Now left for Pedro. ) The mug you have used for the past two years, bought randomly at the store when you first arrived, now holds a special place in your heart. You know the exact level of water to make the perfect steamed egg. It was sold for cheap because of the small dent on the handle. Your thumb remembers it every morning as it brushes against the glazed ceramic. The bowl that fits against the palm of your hand perfectly. The lamp you bought. The pair of chopsticks you had to scour the city for.

Your phone buzzes.

Yamaguchi asks when you will arrive. You reply. A stream of stickers conveying excitement.

 _Are you excited to go home?_ everyone asks. Listening raptly during dinner last night. The final meal.

Of course you are. You haven’t been home in two years. There are things you crave, things you miss, faces you want to see beyond the sad pixels recreated during video calls.

But it doesn't lessen that bittersweetness of leaving a place you called home — no matter how temporary. And you can tell yourself that one day you will come back, but it's more of a hollow promise. It is nothing but a pat on the back to comfort this nameless longing because you know it won’t be the same. Either you will be a traveler passing through here in the future and every step will be filled with nostalgia. Or it will be homecoming but some things will have changed:

A favorite restaurant that closes. A shop where the owners have changed despite the same banner and name. A menu that is tweaked and no longer carries your favorite food. The apartment that is no longer "your home".

This morning you ran through the same route you have for the past twenty four months. Eyes wide as you try to soak up the scenery for one last time. The dog that you always see rounds the corner, his owner smiles and nods at you. You return it: one last exchange of glances before you never see them again.

( Will they wonder where you have gone? Will they still be here whenever you return? )

Last night, your coach took you out for dinner and on the way back you spent the majority of the drive staring out of the window, gazing at the city lights. It will be both familiar and unfamiliar soon. You try to remember the details — the certain buildings, their logos, the numbers of floors illuminated, harsh white or warm yellows, rooftops lined by dots of red — but they blur all too soon. Just a cityscape illuminated in the heart of darkness.

You pass by your favorite court. Rush out of the car, door slamming behind you, as you stand in sand for a final time. Toes seeking purchase. Fingers itch to join a game but you have your whole life to put away into two pieces of luggage. So you don't. So the wind blows and soon the foot prints you leave behind will be covered by others or washed away by the waves.

How does one say goodbye?

Time is relentless. The deadline draws closer like a steady beat of the drum. There are so many loose ends to tie.

You drown in phone calls to cancel bills. Inform companies that you are leaving. Email the invoice and you’ll take care of it. The last one is to cancel your phone because you might never use the number again.

Your phone sits in the palm of your hand. You curl your hand around it as you stare at the bags that are still closer to empty than full.

In a few hours everyone will come, escort you to the airport, and say their goodbyes. Promises to keep in touch will be made and you surely will. To the best of your ability. But it won't be the same again.

Heitor and Nice gave you a gift that you haven’t opened because opening means reckoning. Because they handed it to you saying “just a little something so you can look back on these two years fondly” and “something you can remember this city by.” It sits there in its box — still in the plastic bag they handed it to you in.

You aren't ready to say goodbye yet.

You don’t know if you ever will be.

But you have to.

So you connect your phone to its charger and play the song Pedro recommended. An opening for an anime that both of you have bonded over. The three remaining episodes you will have to watch alone.

The song washes over you. You roll the shirt and tuck it into the crevice between wheels, padding every potential space so everything you hold dear can go home with you.

**Author's Note:**

> it’s been so long since i’ve written. sorry for rusty quality.


End file.
